Caleb too is well aware of the difference between this and the first time Yussa sucked his cock. Yet he is no less amazed than he was then as Yussa positions himself on the bed and bends over his lap, drawing his blood-hot length from his open trousers and tracing his lips along the shaft. The little swipe of his tongue across the flushed head makes Caleb shudder. This has only happened once or twice since that first instance; some part of Caleb can still barely believe this is something Yussa is willing to do for him. But he does, easily and eagerly.
"Yussa--gods," he chokes, nearly a whine. His focus breaks for a moment, the control he has over both himself and Yussa slipping as his hot, wet mouth envelops the head of his cock. The pleasure is immediate, intense, and his mind goes utterly blank for a few blessed seconds.
When he blinks back to himself, he realizes that his hand has settled heavily against the nape of Yussa's neck, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the soft, closely-shorn hair at the back of his head. He makes that grip firmer, more intentional. The callouses on his palm scrape against Yussa's hair, against his silky smooth skin. Every inch of him is polished and perfumed and refined to a state of nearly ethereal beauty Caleb feels almost unworthy of laying his own common, toughened hands on. But that is what Yussa wants, isn't it?
"You are soft and perfect everywhere I touch. Maybe that is why you like a man with rough edges?" he murmurs, throaty and low. He puts a little gentle pressure against the back of Yussa's neck, the base of his skull. What he wants is clear. "Fuck, you look good like this. If you suck me well enough, I'll put my fingers back in your cunt."
He was intending to continue fingering him anyway, but making it something Yussa has to earn--and therefore demonstrate his desire for it--is too sweet an opportunity to pass up.
no subject
"Yussa--gods," he chokes, nearly a whine. His focus breaks for a moment, the control he has over both himself and Yussa slipping as his hot, wet mouth envelops the head of his cock. The pleasure is immediate, intense, and his mind goes utterly blank for a few blessed seconds.
When he blinks back to himself, he realizes that his hand has settled heavily against the nape of Yussa's neck, his thumb rubbing back and forth over the soft, closely-shorn hair at the back of his head. He makes that grip firmer, more intentional. The callouses on his palm scrape against Yussa's hair, against his silky smooth skin. Every inch of him is polished and perfumed and refined to a state of nearly ethereal beauty Caleb feels almost unworthy of laying his own common, toughened hands on. But that is what Yussa wants, isn't it?
"You are soft and perfect everywhere I touch. Maybe that is why you like a man with rough edges?" he murmurs, throaty and low. He puts a little gentle pressure against the back of Yussa's neck, the base of his skull. What he wants is clear. "Fuck, you look good like this. If you suck me well enough, I'll put my fingers back in your cunt."
He was intending to continue fingering him anyway, but making it something Yussa has to earn--and therefore demonstrate his desire for it--is too sweet an opportunity to pass up.